


Stendhal

by NYWCgirl



Category: White Collar
Genre: Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Illnesses
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-29
Updated: 2016-02-29
Packaged: 2018-05-23 22:34:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,404
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6132358
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NYWCgirl/pseuds/NYWCgirl





	Stendhal

The White Collar team had been asked to provide consultancy on a suspected forgery at MoMa. The curator suspected that one of the Monet´s was a forgery and asked the FBI if they could assist in the assessment of the painting.

As they had a boring streak of mortgage fraud cases, Peter was glad he could offer a more interesting case to Neal. Neal loved the impressionists and would make his day, authenticating the painting. Peter could only hope this was not of Neal´s own forgeries.

He entered the bullpen and walked up to Neal´s desk.

“I see you are keeping busy.” Stating the obvious to Neal, who was doodling on some legal paper. “Do you have a minute?”

“Yeah sure, what´s up?”

“Come with me.” Peter climbed the stairs to his office and gestured Neal to sit down.

“We have a case at the MoMa, Impressionists, do I have to worry that I will find an authentic Neal Caffrey?” Peter tried to look stern.

“Hypothetically,… No.” Neal looked Peter in the eye with his most innocent smile.

“Ok, well, then we have a case, the curator wants an authentication of one of their Monet´s that came from their Venice branch.”

Peter could only grin at the face Neal made, it was pure joy.

 

* *  *

 

It would take them about a half hour drive to get there at this time of day, so Peter stopped for lunch at the Starbucks that was just around the corner.

Once they entered MoMa, they were greeted by the curator who took them to the painting. They were led in the catacombs of the museum, where the painting was revealed.

The moment one of the assistants took the cloth that was protecting the painting away, Neal started feeling spaced out. He was starting to get lightheaded and dizzy and he felt like he was going to pass out any moment.

Peter saw Neal paling and noticed that there was a thin sheet of sweat forming on Neal´s hair line. Peter could also see that Neal was shaking.

“Are you OK?” he asked worried.

“I… I´m f… No.” Neal finally stuttered.

Neal started wavering on his feet and Peter grabbed his arm while the curator got a chair.

“Is it something you ate during lunch?”

Neal couldn´t answer, he wanted to, but he felt like he was having a stroke or something. He just looked at Peter with fear filled eyes.

“Can somebody please call paramedics?” Peter asked calmly.

Again, Neal wanted to say that he didn´t need paramedics, but he couldn´t get the words out, his chest was tight and he felt like he couldn´t get enough air.

“P´tr, I´m …”and with that, Neal passed out.

Peter was just in time to catch Neal while he slit out of the chair; to guide him onto the floor so he didn´t hurt himself.

The paramedics arrived a couple of minutes later and checked Neal over but he turned out fine. They couldn´t find anything and they suggested that he would consult with his own doctor if it happened again. This episode was probably triggered by low blood sugar and Neal was given an electrolyte filled drink.

“What happened?” Peter asked concerned once Neal was released.

“I have no idea, I just had a strong feeling that I was going to pass out.”

“Well, have you been eating? You only had coffee and a muffin for lunch.”

“Yes I ate breakfast, dad, It will not happen again.” Neal huffed.

 

* *  *

 

A couple of days later, they were still working the case, Neal escorted Peter back to Moma. He hadn´t fainted anymore and he felt generally good. Peter had stopped being a mother hen and Neal was happy to make another trip to Moma to finish the job.

Peter and Neal again stopped first for lunch, because Peter didn´t want a repetition of last time, still thinking Neal hadn´t eaten properly before coming to work. He insisted that Neal ate more than just a muffin and coffee.

Once they finished their lunch, the walked to MoMa where they were welcomed by the curator once again. He escorted them to the basement floor. The moment Neal walked into the room with the already revealed Monets, he started feeling confused. He must have paled, because he could hear Peter´s worried voice, but he didn´t quite get what he was saying, but it sounded distressed.

He couldn´t quiet follow what happened next, but suddenly he was outside breathing fresh air and he could feel his heart beat slow down and the faint feeling pass. Suddenly someone pushed something in his hand and when he looked down it was a can of coke.

“Drink it, the sugars will help you feel less faint.”

“Thanks” Neal croaked.

When he felt better, Peter was studying him.

“I don´t like this, Neal, is there something I should know?”

“No, honestly, you have seen me the last few days, I was fine, it is just… it seems that it only happens when I get into that room.”

“Still, I want you to be checked out.”

Neal mumbled something under his breath but knew he couldn´t wind this argument, so he let Peter make an appointment with the FBI doctor for a medical checkup.

 

* *  *

 

 

 

The results surprised Peter, Neal was healthy as a horse, nothing wrong, his blood work was perfect. He got a clean bill of health. But it still didn´t explain why Neal had fainted twice.

So he went to his last resource. He walked in the park, chose the second bench on the left and tapped his newspaper twice and then once again. He waited a minute and suddenly Mozzie was there.

“Good afternoon, suit, what has he done now?”

“Hi Mozzie, nothing, I guess. But I need to know, has Neal a medical condition that makes him faint?”

“Ever heard of the HIPPA Act, suit?”

“Yes Mozzie, but Neal fainted on me twice during an investigation. I need to know what causes it so I can prevent it.”

Mozzie seemed to contemplate Peter´s words for a moment.

“What I tell you must stay between us, suit.”

“That depends on what you are going to tell me Mozzie. Does it involve a crime, past, current or future?”

“No, of course not and I take offense that you would think so low of me.”

Peter just gave him a tired look. Talking to Mozzie always felt like mental tightrope walking.

“Please, just tell me, does Neal have a medical condition I need to know about?”

“Ever heard of Stendhal syndrome?”

“No, should I have?”

“Well since you work White collar…”

“Just tell me, is it something serious?”

“Neal doesn´t know he has it.”

“You kept this from him?”

“Yeah, well…”

“Just tell me what to expect.” Peter rolled his eyes.

“Stendhal syndrome is named after the nineteen-century French author Stendhal whose pseudonym was Marie-Henri Beyle. He described his experience with the phenomenon during his visit to Florence in his book Naples and Florence: A Journey from Milan to Reggio.”

“Great Mozzie, but what does this have to do with Neal?”

“It is a psychosomatic disorder that causes rapid heartbeat, dizziness, fainting, confusion and even hallucinations when Neal is exposed to an experience of great personal significance, particularly viewing art he thinks is invaluable.”

Peter started laughing.

“You mean Neal faints when he sees a painting? How is that possible? I saw him steal art and reproduce art. He lives and breathes the stuff.”

“Stuff? You truly are a barbaric, suit. Well, you asked me what causes the fainting, and I explained it to you.”

Mozzie got up and was ready to disappear in the masses, when Peter stopped him.

“You are serious, are you?”

Mozzie turned around.

“Yes, I have seen it happen before, it doesn´t happen often, but it sometimes does. It is nothing serious, but yeah, there you have it, the world´s greatest art thief, fainting when he sees an important piece of art.”

Mozzie gave a small laugh. “Now that I hear myself say it, I must admit it is funny.”

Peter laughed as well.

“How about I buy you a cup of coffee, and we compare notes.”

“OK, but I pick the coffee place.”

“Of course you do.”


End file.
